


A spark of inspiration

by Lokuro



Series: Curse of Strahd Verse - bardic edition [2]
Category: DDungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work Character: Original Bard Character(s)
Genre: Always, Bards, Curse of Strahd, Gen, M/M, Original Character(s), Twins, awakening of bard powers always starts with vicious mockery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25052971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokuro/pseuds/Lokuro
Summary: When choosing a tragic backstory for our characters never did we expect that the shadows of their past will come alive to haunt our characters all through Barovia.Therefore, my silly bard who lost his twin brother about 10 years ago never imagined to find him in this bleak and joyless country. The lost brother has changed... a lot. To remember the good days the bard starts reminiscing about their childhood, remembering the boy Alexandre was before a demon started feasting on his soul.Enjoy the sweet sadness <3With many thanks to our amazing DM who brought him back to life~
Series: Curse of Strahd Verse - bardic edition [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836646
Kudos: 1





	A spark of inspiration

_ (about 12 years before Barovia, a ballroom in a richly decorated mansion, early evening) _

“Did you have to invite him, my dear? Some of the other guests — not me, mind you! — might take offense.”

“I had to, poppet. The Duchess favours him still. And it does not bode well to scorn the ones she grants her favour”.

Gossip was aflutter in the perfumed air of the ballroom. Whispers breathed behind soft feathers perched on top of long folding fans. At their core were mounted precious bones of monsters heroically slayed so that their corpses can fan the stale air to breathless giggles and meaningful smiles.

“Not to criticize the wisdom of Her Grace’s decision but… I really don't understand why that person was ennobled. Just because some dirty peasant stumbles upon a shiny trinket in the forest mud and is clever enough to present it to the right people, pah! It's quite disrespectful towards the old families to even imply, he should be treated as the old blood.”

“Yes, you can always tell with the parvenu, they are so appallingly ambitious...” 

The gowns of the two ladies were richly decorated and their watteau veils, the newest fashion from the capital, trailed behind them over the polished dance floor. Rare pieces of dead creatures were worked into creamy silks and rich brocade of their garments and adorned with elaborate flower designs. Spun gold skillfully braided around cadaverous artifacts.

“And the cheek of him to ask for the hand of the countess! It’s almost an insult to her face, especially as he already has his bastards.”

“I absolutely agree with you, dear. And what’s even worse, he did not utter a word about their mother! It could have been anyone, a whore or a hag or something even worse. Why else would he keep so silent about her? Scandalous, truly.” 

Knowing smiles were exchanged behind glasses of red wine. A rare vintage exported from the far Southern lands where cruel spirits were told to possess the grapes and give them that exquisitely rich and slightly bitter aftertaste.

“I hear the old man is quite easy on the eyes though, so the countess might end up the lucky one?”

The fans stopped fluttering, the wine goblets halted in their motion. Indignant air was puffed out in unison and the circle of chattering gentlewomen stared at the girl in sheer disbelief. The young lady Antoinette was barely sixteen and to be married to the Grand Duke in a few months, she should be grateful for this stroke of luck, not wagging her impertinent tongue like a flower girl from the street! Granted, the Duke was almost seventy but he had royal blood and the young lady had nothing to complain about. Just as they were about to explain it to her in great detail, the very same man they were so gleefully discussing was announced by the herald.

As Maximilian de la Morandière entered the ballroom, nobody could have accused him of being a dirty peasant. His court dress was tasteful and expensive, his dark eyes shone with intelligence and wit. Both headstrong and charismatic he knew perfectly well the price and value of everything he possessed. As an extension of this involuntary professional trait, he could not help but appraise everybody inside the ballroom the moment he set his foot into it, weighing the vices, weaknesses, and assets of the present company. In his private estimation, most of the guests amounted to far less than a loyal hunting dog. 

Behind his broad figure, two smaller ones appeared. A pair of boys clad in identical silk breeches and crisp white shirts with smart bows at their throats. Both had dark locks and pretty faces and at first glance their similarity seemed so striking, it was almost uncanny. The only way to distinguish them was their vests, one of the boys was dressed in rich purple, the other in deep blue. However, as they both relaxed their rigid postures and started glancing around more freely, it was easy to keep them apart. From the two pairs of curious grey eyes, one was sweet and the other sharp. One boy looked cooly upon the gathering, defiant, and ready to face any challenge the crowd might throw at him. The other was gentler and looked around in sheer amazement and wonder at the colours and patterns, almost awe-struck. From time to time, the boys would bend their heads together and whisper to each other conspiratorially, as they always did. Other times, a brief exchange of hushed smiles or sideway glances would suffice and each knew what the other was thinking.

Besides smiling, being introduced as the future heirs and generally trailing behind their father who amiably greeted some of the guests, they were mostly left to themselves. They tasted some pastries and fruits from the tables scattered across the walls of the enormous room and even tried to sneak some wine, while nobody was looking. Then the one in the red vest, Alexandré, pointed out their future stepmother. A tall, pale woman. Thin and unyielding, to him she looked like a spear anchored in the blood-soaked soil in the middle of a battlefield. “Still”, the other boy, Vincent, remarked kindly, “her hair has a lovely chestnut colour, don’t you think? It’s sprinkled with gold, almost like a yellow daisy.” Still contemplating the tall and a bit scary looking woman, his gaze wandered from her face to her dress of a deep forest-green brocade, as he spotted another, smaller figure beside the countess. Suddenly, all the flowers and colour combinations were forgotten. For the first in many, many times to come Vincent’s heart dropped down to his stomach and then went straight up to his head. After these acrobatics, it settled firmly between his ears and filled all the space normally occupied by thoughts and ideas. The boy half-hidden behind the broad dress of the countess was beautiful. His features were fine and elegant, his hair the same golden chestnut as his mother´s, and his eyes gleamed so darkly in the pale face, they were almost black.

“Vince, you alright? Don’t forget to breathe. Are you already scared of her?” Alexandré stepped in front of his brother, trying to catch his eye, “I told you not to read that many fairy tales, they are messing with your head. A stepmother is not always an evil hag, you know. Even if this one sure looks the part. But we’ll manage!”

As if to test this challenge to the gods, their father gestured for the boys to follow him. They immediately fell apart and dutifully tagged along to be formally introduced, as Maximilian bowed and kissed the hand of the countess. His lips never touched the bare skin, just a courtesy, no need to annoy the future lady of the household at their first meeting in person. Some more courtesies were exchanged, inquires about good health, and if all was well in their respective estates.

Alexandré stood attentive by his father’s side, already filtering the polite gibberish down to hard facts that could be of actual use, while Vincent’s gaze was clouded with fantasies of the future, where the handsome pale boy would join them on their adventures and maybe…. well, maybe when Alexandré was busy with their father, as he often was lately, he could show his new friend a few of his favourite spots in the castle? He was slightly taller than Alexandré but probably of about the same age, maybe a tad older. Would he think their pastimes childish? He looked so earnest, his lips pressed together, what would he look like when he smiled? Vincent was still dreaming of showing his very first sweetheart around — he wondered if the pale boy liked music? — as his father laid both hands at the shoulders of the twins and slightly pushed them towards the other boy. “Leopold carries himself like such a fine young master, milady, but surely, we are boring him to tears. Let the children get acquainted with themselves, shall we? I am sure they will get along splendidly.” The countess inclined her head in silent approval and the adults retreated to a nearby table, their discussion becoming more vigorous and lively as both formalities and offspring were left behind and the more interesting topics of financial affairs and contracts to negotiate and fight about could be discussed in proper detail. The adults seemed to carry off all the noise with them, as such only a bubble of nervous silence remained. Finally, Alexandré stretched out his hand, a polite smile on his lips. Never was Vincent more proud of his bravery. 

"My father already welcomed your lady mother and you, but I would like to extend the invitation to join the family from our side as well. We would love to welcome you as our brother.”

Leopold eyed the outstretched hand suspiciously. Only after letting out a deliberate sigh, did he reciprocate the gesture. “Oh yes, my mother informed me of that possibility,” his voice was melodious and a bit lazy, as if he were slightly bored with the situation and was idly musing if he could find something more interesting to occupy himself with. “And I am prepared to tolerate you both, but please spare me that tone.”

Alexandré’s welcoming smile grew colder, “What tone exactly would that be, pray tell?”

“As if you were doing me a favour by welcoming me amidst your... ”, Leopold crooked his fine eyebrow most charmingly, “... kind.” The mockery in his singsong of a voice left no doubt that this choice of words was the kindest he could spare for the poor delusional bastards of a peasant who wished to call him family. And while Alexandré was still baffled, Leopold smiled a mannerly “If you will excuse me now”, spared one glance to not minder flabbergasted Vincent and walked away from the disaster. Fashionably slow and bored. 

As unexpectedly as his first crush came, as suddenly did it break Vincent’s heart to pieces. He could almost feel the agony as the tender rose of infatuation withered and died in his breast. Its petals, glowing with adoration just a moment ago, were mere clutter now, pale and lifeless, and adding to the overall chaos of his soul. At the same time, Alexandré clenched his hands into fists and barely looked at his brother, as he went to the nearby table and with unnecessary force stabbed a tiny silver fork into an innocent jelly pudding. Judging by his grim expression, it granted him at least some satisfaction to watch it wiggle. Just as Vincent touched his shoulder, full of overwhelming emotions to discuss the matter, he said without even turning around, “Not now, Vincent, give me a moment to think.” Knowing that Alexandré indeed preferred to have a few private moments to mull things over until he was ready to discuss their revenge strategy together, Vincent took a few steps back and glanced at that evil incarnate who dared to upset his brother. This time, the sight did not stir anything in his breast. Except for fury. There was no way back, any tender feelings died the moment Leopold looked at his brother with that arrogant if outwardly beautiful expression and sneered at his generous offering. Nobody sneered at his brother. Nobody. And with that thought, Vincent felt a touch of magic at his fingertips. Soft like butterfly wings brushing against the skin. He allowed the feeling to go deeper, until it was less gentle and more like a buzzing underneath, prickling and exciting. Like the smell and the pulsing rhythm of an approaching thunderstorm if such things could crawl under your skin and make you vibrate along with them. He first felt this stirring about a year ago, albeit to a much weaker degree. Since then it came and went on it’s own unpredictable whim, but Vincent never bothered enough to truly focus on the sensation or to guide it in any direction. It mostly overcame him when he was playing the harp and the buzzing feeling intertwined with the melody most beautifully. As soon as it first appeared, he showed his new skill to Alexandré, bursting with delight at his discovery and even adding colourful sparks and miniature lightning bolts in between plucking the strings. But otherwise he was happy enough to just let it flow from his fingertips and twirl around the tunes. Except now the melody was silent to the outward world, it only played in his head, invisible to everyone but him. Yet the prickling sensation under his skin intensified and grew lower.

Leopold already turned away from the two misfits, almost forgetting them, as something whispered in his ear "despite your fine clothing, you behave like a cad". He turned around, nobody there, “you are detestable”, a soft dulcet voice whispered on, even as Leopold turned around, again and again, now almost rotating the full circle, trying to catch the culprit, “everyone here despises you”, the whispering continued, now the voice did sound a tad familiar, but he could not place it, “your mother would leave you in the woods if she could”, Leopold felt a ghost of panic rising in his chest and tried to cover it up with indignation, “Who are you!? Stop!” Several guests turned to him and frowned. Leopold felt the colour rising in his cheeks, the red of his humiliation cruelly evident in the pale visage. The haunting whispers continued for some time, criticizing everything from his shoes to the top of his head, every character fault (even those Leopold was pretty sure he never had and never will have). 

The boy tried to compose himself, stepped to one of the tables nearby, and grabbed a goblet of wine with an unsteady hand. He was holding onto it with a shaky grip, ready to fight the undeserved criticism off with alcohol and sweets, but all of the sudden the whispers ceased. Leopold waited a few breaths long, ready to struggle through another attack should the judging litany continue. Everything was silent. He let out a sigh of relief and took a generous gulp of the drink. The surface of the wine did not part but all of a sudden a creature appeared in his cup. As big as a thumb it starred at the young lord with three pairs of eyes, fire burning inside their dead gaze. The monsterling appeared to be of a distant relation to a spider who mated with a scorpion and then decided to grow a few appendages more just for the joy of it. In between its scales, some foul looking liquid oozed out and dropped into the wine. The droplets of sickly ooze never disturbed the surface, but somehow it made their slow descent even worse. The creature did not make a sound but looked into the very soul of Leopold. And then it grinned, baring its sharp, bloody fangs, all three rows of them. The boy let go of the goblet, it clattered to the floor and spilled the wine. His scream was thin and terrified, more like a high pitched weep. He frantically dusted off his vest, in fear that thing might have crawled underneath the fabric, and then saw everybody looking at him. Eyebrows raised, a few mocking smiles here and there, "Couldn't the young lord hold his drink?", "Did the sight of a cake knife scare him?", were these whispers faintly murmured behind folding fans even true or yet another hallucination? Did he anger some fairies?

It was all these cruelly amused faces of the courtiers around him that finally made him snap. Not knowing what to do, he ran to his mother and buried his face in her skirts. Clearly annoyed at the display, she still lovingly stroked his hair, all the while trying to unclench his hands from her dress.

“By gods!” Maximilian exclaimed at this offensive spectacle. He was about to discuss the exact taxes the countess received from her eastern province and if there was any decline in payment due to the recent problems which might have spread from the neighboring land, and was not pleased to have his argumentation disturbed. “No offense, milady, but your boy sure has some weak nerves. What could have possibly scared him in the safety of a courtroom?” Maximilian clearly disapproved and did not find any pity for the trembling young lord. Such an embarrassing behaviour for a young man to hide behind his mother's skirts. Maybe Maximilian was a bit harsh in his judgment but after spending his whole youth alone in the forest full of creatures that actively wanted to kill, maim, spell or eat you — not necessarily in that order — it was hard to find some charitable sympathy for a rich lordling who apparently was afraid of timid dessert mice made of marzipan. A dry smile touched his lips when Maximilian thought of his own kids. He was ever so proud of Alexandré! And even Vincent, who was still not his best investment, would never have behaved like that, probably just runned away and hid somewhere. Which was still something they had to work on, but not as inconvenient as this young lord’s behaviour. Maximilian adjusted his previous estimation of the family. Just as the countess glanced at him furiously, clearly offended at his cold remark about her son. 

Vincent grinned gleefully. Satisfied with his mischief, he looked at his hands where few last sparks were already dying at the fingertips, leaving him strangely tired and empty. When he looked up, he saw Alexandré staring back at him, his eyes a stormy grey. He grabbed Vincent by the hand and whisked him away from the commotion, “Why did you do that?” an angry whisper, “It was stupid,” Vincent who expected praise for his cunning, wanted to defend himself against such an atrocious accusation but it was surprisingly hard to explain something so obvious, “But… but… He was mean to you!”

“So what? He was mean to  _ me  _ and it was  _ my  _ right to deal with him, not yours”, having experienced two heartbreaks in one day, Vincent’s eyes were now almost glistening with unshed tears, “But I only wanted to help!”

“No, you didn’t! You are such a show-off!” That hurt. Vincent did love the attention and the compliments but it did not mean he was a show-off! And he certainly never meant to outshine his brother, only to avenge the injustice done to him. It was so unfair! Just as predicted by his father, Vincent took off and found the darkest and most empty corner of the ballroom to wail in the unfairness of the situation.

Vincent was not just pouting, he made pouting a fine and noble art. Right now, he was seated at a broad window bench and staring gloomily into the darkness lurking outside, already picturing himself as a gallant but suffering knight spurned by a heartless beauty and cursed to spend the rest of his life in a dark tower at the edge of the known world. He would be sitting there in his lonely tower, playing a melody so sweet, a charming fey would be so entranced by his sadness, she would tip-toe out of the woods and bestow her gifts on him. He was just deciding what exactly she would gift him when he heard a soft clicking of heels on the wooden floor. Alexandré was always exceptionally light-footed, but even he could not prevent at least some noise on the polished wood. In his hands he held a raspberry cake with dark chocolate filling and a goblet of wine, a bribe so clear Vincent turned his nose in a gesture just as exaggerated. Even if it was his favourite dessert with the added lure of a forbidden adult vice, he would not let himself be bought that easily. Alexandré just placed the peace offering on the table before them and joined Vincent at the window bench, sitting opposite of him, almost a mirror image. Their silhouettes doubly mirrored in the darkness of the window, as if the whole world were just alliterations of the two of them. 

“Father decided it would be better to wait for a more suitable candidate. He did not care for such a display of cowardness. Especially not in public.” Vincent glanced up through his lashes to see if any more concessions would be forthcoming.

Alexandré sighed, “So, yes, maybe your idea was not that stupid. People do tend to show their true nature under stress and if their family really is so weak, they would have made rather poor allies.”

For all his gloomy appearance Vincent did not need much convincing. He beamed and reached for the cake. He held it between them so that Alexandré could steal a few bites as well. “I still don’t regret it though”, Vincent pointed out between small bites of chocolate filling, “Nobody has the right to insult you. Or, well, I guess, us. Come to think of it, father too.”

Alexandré sighed, this time without any real bitterness to it, “But promise to always consult me first before you attempt anything that flashy again. Somebody could have noticed and then we all would be in real trouble.” Vincent agreed without hesitation and skillfully picked a raspberry with his fork, “Sure, but only if you promise me something in return.”

Alexandré, who was starting to relax, tensed up a bit, “Like what?”

“Your honest opinion: Did Leopold deserve it?”

Alexandré truly smiled for the first time this evening, carefree and open, something not even his father has witnessed for a while now, “By gods, he did.”

Vincent’s heart melted, warmed by the smile, and the lonely and the imaginary sad, dark tower crumpled without a trace. And it only got better, as his brother continued, “And I can’t say, I did not enjoy watching him squirming about, chasing his own tails like the idiot he was. Just. Be more discreet next time,” and he took the fork from his brother’s hands and dug into the cake before Vincent could pick all the raspberries away. 


End file.
